


Mere Words

by Misinterpreted



Category: Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Superman: The Animated Series
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 16:53:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12775323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misinterpreted/pseuds/Misinterpreted
Summary: Post-"Legacy." Lois wants redemption for Superman.





	Mere Words

Mere Words

*This story first appeared on FF.Net eons ago. Now it's here. This fic follows the events of "Legacy" from S:TAS. (Does anyone remember S:TAS? God I feel old...) Why is it that even after all these years the fact that they ended that series with a freakin game-changing cliffhanger still annoys me? (I swear, I do have a life.) But writing this helped.*

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, merely the words (sorry, couldn't resist).

-

"Staying late?"

A strained moment of key-typing passed before Lois Lane, rubbing her eyes, turned to look up at her co-worker. She blinked away her fatigue and offered Clark a grim smile. "The story's not gonna write itself, Smallville."

Something passed between them, and both warily took note. It was the exhaustion in her face, the same in his. It was an exhaustion born of late nights like these, working nights—he saving a reluctant world, a world that feared the strength of his fingers, while she consumed herself with an unblinking white screen. Lois' eyes shifted almost imperceptivity, and Clark wondered, not for the first time, if she knew—about him. But then she dropped her gaze and said nothing.

He could do it—now. He had been waiting, wondering when was the right time. He still didn't know. Could he take her out to dinner …? No, that would be awkward, and someone might overhear. Could he go to her apartment? That was a possibility, to show up out of the blue and take her off guard. Or he could do it here, now, since they were in the Daily Planet, both alone and unwilling to leave. The Daily Planet. It was ideal: they were safe, in a shared space, on neutral territory.

Why not?

He would begin: "Lois, I have something really important to tell you…"

But instead he said, "You look like you could use some sleep." When no response came, he even threw in, trying not to sound desperate, "Why don't I give you a lift?"

Lois swung her chair back to her computer screen and resumed her typing. "Sleep is for the weak."

Such was their pattern these days.

"Noted." He collected his coat from his own chair and hesitated. She was proofreading. He still had a chance, and he waited for himself to take it, take it…

And waiting, he knew it was not going to happen. He didn't have it in him. So he stared at her hair, cushioned by the soft light from her desk, and said, "Good night, Lois."

As he walked out, he heard the typing stop and Lois's hushed, "Good night, Clark."

-

She was a few sentences away from finishing her editorial on Superman, and all she could do while Clark stood there was write the same sentence over and over again: "We owe him." The rest of the editorial was a more graceful argument, but at that moment her instinct was to just keep typing. Just to keep him away, to be mean. Or maybe she wanted him too see. In any case, Clark's presence had reduced her to three single-syllable words, and when he left, she had none at all.

She leaned back with a silent sigh, rubbing her temples. Kent was right—when was the last time she got a full night's sleep? If she put aside the editorial and went home now, she could fall into bed and wake up refreshed for a change. She had a feeling she wouldn't receive any visitors in blue tights tonight. She had waited each night for him to come, like that first (and only) night. Coffee gurgled into the night, her laptop purred contently, and her own restless typing put her at ease. She was working, she'd told herself. Somebody had to educate the people. Somebody had to set the record straight. Superman was out doing his part, and she had to do hers. In fact, Superman was doing his part so well that he virtually disappeared from her life. The coffee and the computer and the typing were functioned as an excellent distraction from that rather upsetting fact. She felt his absence in every inch of her soul, in every cold wind that fluttered by her open window. It disgusted her; she disgusted herself. She was no Lois Lane. No Lois Lane in the universe, in any universe, could become the kind of woman who waited at home for a man—especially for a lying son of a bitch. Duped by a pair of glasses? Some headline: SECRET REVEALED—SUPERMAN RAISED ON CORN WITH COWS IN STATE THAT VOTED FOR BUSH. TWICE. No way would her byline go on that.

She should go to bed. She should sleep. She couldn't—she was a wreck. A nervous, anxious, angry-as-all-hell wreck. She didn't tell Clark that earlier that very day Perry had called her into his office. Time off? She'd repeated. Like it was a death sentence.

"Just for a while. A day, even." He shrugged. "I don't know if it's stress, I don't know if it's something in your personal life, but whatever it is, it's eating away at you. You and Kent are two of my best reporters, and I don't want that to change."

He was on page twelve, and she was still on page one and the "eating away" remark. "You think I'm losing my touch, Chief? Is the quality of my work slipping? Because I have to say, I worked my ass off for my last piece on Intergang, and I think it's-"

"It was excellent. Pulitzer-excellent. That's not the point." In a rare moment of tenderness, Perry stepped closer and clasped her arm. "You're not responsible for him, Lois. It's his job to earn back people's trust. Not yours."

When she didn't respond, she thought she saw fear flicker in his eyes. And, the good woman-who-lives-for-a-(super)man that she has become, she was repulsed and delighted and ultimately ashamed. For this must be what Superman sees the in the eyes of almost everyone, everyday, and deep within her, fleetingly, it made her feel connected to him.

She recoiled.

Walking away, she pictured Perry's hand cradling naked air. When she stopped and looked back at him, his arm was back at his side. Words rose to her throat, tickled her epiglottis, and suddenly sounded completely stupid in her mind. I am responsible for him. I know, I'm not responsible for him, but I can't help myself. Maybe if I stick up for him, he'll come back to me?

"You know me," she said. "I'm a sucker for lost causes."

Perry regarded her carefully, almost mockingly. "Isn't that Kent's department?"

For a moment Lois felt the old familiar irony. But she bit back her retort and instead said, smiling the first genuine smile in days, "See you in the a.m., Chief."

-

At two o'clock he flew to the Daily Planet and hovered outside the window of the only floor that was lit. The computer screen was dark, and Lois was curled over her desk. Light from the desk lamp settled over her head like a halo.

He almost wanted to laugh at the unexpected analogy. Lois Lane was no angel. And, as he had proved to the world, to himself, neither was he.

Within minutes, her head rested against his arm. She unconsciously pulled herself closer into him, away from the chilly breeze.

-

It was the familiar swooping sound that she first became aware of. She opened her eyes into the night sky, unafraid, even reveling in the wind. Sleepily, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Good morning," he said, smiling. "It's technically morning, anyway."

Days before, she wondered what she would do, what she would say, when they were together again. Would she chastise him? Demand where the hell he had been, why he had left her high and dry?

She shouldn't have looked up at his face. His smile. The boyish curl that dangled over his soft eyes. Despite the visible tiredness, the darkness beneath his eyes, his admiration of her was clear. She suspected that he saw the same in her.

Pathetic, Lane.

She closed her eyes, breathed deeply. "Where are we going?"

"To your place," he said. "You fell asleep at your desk. I thought I'd give you a lift."

Give you a lift. The words sounded eerily familiar, like she had heard him say something like that before. Surely he had offered her "a lift" many times in the past. Then it hit her—that's what Clark had said. Those exact words. Not an uncommon phrase, but still—those exact words. In that exact voice.

Why don't I give you a lift?

"I'm worried about you," he continued in that strong-but-smooth voice. "What's wrong, exactly? You seem a little…"

"A little what?" There we go, she thought to herself. A bit of that old harshness.

He shrugged. "Edgy?"

"How would you know," she said, suddenly seething. "You're never around these days."

She was surprised to see him, Superman, flinch. "I pay attention."

"How?" The question just came out, and she couldn't stop the rest. "How exactly do you know so much about me? Are you keeping tabs on me or something?"

"What? No! I—" He stared straight ahead, and sighed. "I would never do that, Lois."

"You didn't answer my question," she said coolly.

"You didn't answer mine," he replied, equally coolly.

She didn't say anything for the rest of their flight, and neither did he.

Funny, Lois thought to herself. She had waited all this time to be with him, in his arms, in the sky, and all she could do was be angry. Metropolis shimmered below them like paradise, the wind hummed its old tune, the flesh on his neck was smooth and pliable beneath her fingers, and each of these familiar details annoyed the hell out of her. Worst of all, she knew she wouldn't want to be anywhere else, or with anyone else.

When they landed on her balcony, she invited him into his apartment. She told him to sit in the living room and wait, stressing the "wait" part, and then added, for good measure, "Don't you dare fly away on me." In the kitchen, she realized that she had no idea what she was planning to bring out. She considered the unopened bottle of Cabernet before deciding at that almost two-thirty was not a suitable time for alcohol. A few minutes later, she returned with two cups of tea.

He accepted a cup gratefully. For several moments they absorbed the silence around them, between them, on opposite ends of the couch. In this time, Lois thought she ought to scoop up the right words—words that weren't smoking with anger or foolish babblings of love.

"So…" she began. "What brought you to the Planet at two in the morning?"

He looked up at her and paused, as though debating what the right answer was. "You," he said finally.

Silence enveloped them again. Lois's eyes darted to the digital cable clock—two forty-one a.m. Two hours of sleep last night, three the night before. If she didn't go to bed now, she would be too wired to sleep at all. For the first time all day, she considered taking Perry up on that personal day.

"Making up for lost time?" She wanted it to come out harsh, mean even, but one didn't need super hearing to notice the crack.

He scooted a little closer to her. She let him touch her, smooth the hair from her face. She remained perfectly still as his fingers traced her neck and her shoulder, rested at her waist. "You're beautiful."

"Ha. I'm a mess."

"That makes two of us." He smiled bitterly.

Things fell into place for them. She rested her head on his shoulder, her fingers pressing into his back, his breath in her hair and ear. Minutes passed before she even remembered her old anger. She tried to conjure it, but only again felt it faintly. She clung to it as she clung to him: single-mindedly, desperately.

When she finally asked, "Where have you been lately?" she felt his arms become tense and withdraw. With every second that followed she could feel him leaving her bit by bit, even though they were still close, still touching.

"It's hard to say," he answered at last.

His voice seemed to linger in the air between; she shivered, and pulled closer, as though trying to erase the words. She reached for his face and drew his eyes to hers.

Still, he continued: "I'm sorry, Lois. I should have come sooner. I wanted to."

"But…?"

"But…I'm not myself these days. I'm…terrified. Just terrified." He paused. Lois wondered if he could hear her heart pounding. Then she realized that yes, he could, and that, leaning into him, she could hear his. "You know … I'm starting to remember more about, well, the things I did, under Darkseid's control. On earth, on other planets too. The people, there, that I killed with my own hands."

Lois pulled away just enough to cup his face. "The same hands that are holding me now. I'm not afraid of you."

"I am."

Lois didn't know what to say. In the moments that followed, she felt her own loneliness acutely. Perry's voice rang in her ears—You're not responsible for him—and they made much more sense here and now then they did in his office. I can't help him, she found herself thinking. And he can't help me. That was the awful truth.

"I enjoyed it, Lois," he went on. "I know, I wasn't in control. But I remember it now. Each death that I caused, each one…satisfied me. That's what scares me. What if I do it again?"

"You won't."

He didn't say anything.

"Look," she tried again, "what's done is done. You've got to move on. Stop beating yourself up. You say you enjoyed killing. You also enjoy saving lives. You…" She stopped. She wasn't getting through to him. His eyes, still aimed at her, had receded into someplace she couldn't go. Among her many words, said or printed, none could function as a password. And he, he had no words at all. Sometimes, like tonight at the Daily Planet, Clark Kent looked like he had remembered the words but had forgotten how to speak.

Even though it was she who leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, in a way, it was a moment of surrender more so for her. It didn't last very long, but just long enough. She couldn't remember if he said "I should go" or not, and it made very little difference. Their hands slipped into each others as she walked him to the balcony, where they stood, delaying the moment.

Nothing stirred outside, nothing but dead hot air. Absurdly, it reminded her of fire. Red eyes. And Clark Kent, mild-mannered reporter, in the clutches of those eyes.

Finally he leaned over and kissed her, briefly. "Good night, Lois."

Once again, her curtains fluttered. She leaned against the balcony door and watched him be swallowed into the night. "Good night, Clark."


End file.
